The Bar Code Prophecy

by Suzanne Weyn

  Grace looked up at him. “I feel the same.”

  He smiled at her and brushed away a piece of hair that had fallen into her face. “I love you, Grace.”

  His words brought emotional tears to her eyes, a mix of happiness and something else. She couldn’t name the something else. Maybe it was being overwhelmed by feelings — to have found something so precious as his love and to know that there would be no real time for them to be together — it was so confusing.

  “I love you, too, Eric,” Grace said, knowing it was so. They leaned toward each other and kissed. For a moment, the world went away. There was no Global-1, no prophecy, no tidal wave crashing toward them. For a moment Grace let herself imagine that this was happening in her backyard as she had hoped it would not so very long ago.

  When the kiss was done, they slowly parted, still looking at each other. “We’d better get going,” Eric said, finally. “Are you going to be all right flying that thing?”

  “Of course,” Grace replied, wishing that the confidence in her tone was sincere and not the false bravado that it really was. She hoped she could remember Jack’s quick instructions, which, at the moment, she recalled as only a blur of words.

  Pushing these worries aside, Grace climbed into the pilot’s seat of the cockpit. The new, improved swing-lo had a streamlined dashboard that rose with three-dimensional holographic controls when she waved her hand across its rectangular screen. Its steering mechanism was gone, replaced with finger-touch technology. Its engine purred to life when she activated the controls as Jack had showed her, and the craft elevated smoothly to about three feet above the ground.

  Grace stole a glance at Eric, who hovered beside her. He smiled and shot her a thumbs-up. “Final level, huh!” he remarked.

  Grinning, she nodded.

  “All right, everyone,” Allyson spoke loudly to the group. “Remember not to take these too high. The last model cracked up at a thousand feet. We’re pretty sure they can now climb to about thirteen hundred feet, but we’re not positive. At no higher than eight hundred feet, any of these buttes and mesas should be possible landing platforms if you don’t want to come all the way down. Good luck and remember to meet us at Monument Valley by the formation called The Thumb when you’re done. We’re going to meet with the tribal elders there. At least we’ll all see this through together.”

  Grace slid her finger up the side of the orange holographic bar and the craft rose ten feet in the air. Immediately her swing-lo tilted so far to the right that Grace gripped its sides. The auto-correct kicked in, placing her back into a horizontal equilibrium.

  “Don’t worry, you’re doing better than most,” Eric said as he hovered at her side. Gazing in the direction he was pointing, she saw that the other ten pilots were having an initial rough start, some spinning in circles, others jerking abruptly up and down, still others lurching forward and back.

  Eric whizzed off to help other struggling new pilots while Grace practiced flying at three feet around the desert floor. Before long she felt a new confidence and rose two feet higher and flew faster. Soon she was ready to elevate even higher.

  Smiling with the pleasure of near-mastery, Grace maneuvered the swing-lo in a swirling, pretzel-like pattern, dipping around and under in arching curves. Pressing down on the purple bar of the holographic accelerator, she sped out away from the group into the desert, traveling at fifteen feet above the ground. She set the navigator toward Sedona, Arizona. She would stop along the way and offer one of her supply boxes, telling the people what she knew, inviting them to join the others in Monument Valley at The Thumb. The higher ground they could make, the better.

  As Grace flew, she was filled with a joyful, almost desperate exhilaration. If these were going to be the last hours of her life, then she could think of no better way of spending them than flying free as a bird on the most exciting adventure of her life.

  For the next three days, Grace worked to perfect her skills as a swing-lo pilot. The training went well; she seemed to have a natural aptitude for it. She didn’t think any of the fleet, except Jack, Allyson, and possibly Eric were any better than she was now. It wasn’t just her opinion. They all said so.

  She was grateful to have the flying to concentrate on. If she’d only been sitting and waiting for the end to come, she was sure she’d have lost her mind to fear and anxiety before the actual event even occurred. But maybe she wouldn’t have, she considered. Spending this time with Eric, both knowing it might be the only time they would ever have, made the days sweet in a strange, unexpected way.

  Who would have thought that the last days of the world would turn out to be the best days of her life?

  Now she was on her way into Monument Valley, flying just above the highway with the bubble-top open. The heat had become so intense that no one could bear to close the clear dome over themselves. As the yellow sky began to fade back into dusk, Grace touched the tip of her nose and cringed with pain. Despite the coverage of her cap and a liberal smear of sun block, it was badly sunburned.

  Hours spent flying across the desert, stopping only to talk with people in Sedona and then the village of Chinle had left her skin burned and her muscles aching but her mood uplifted. She felt useful, and knowing that Global-1 couldn’t track her because of their signal jams made her feel free for the first time in weeks. She hadn’t realized how much having the tracker nanobots in her bloodstream had depressed her, made her feel like a trapped animal.

  On her way into Monument Valley, she saw Global-1 mining trucks rumbling along the highway, their cloaking devices no longer functional. It seemed strange that they were working despite everything that was happening in the world.

  Her monitor indicated that another swing-lo was behind her. In a little while she saw it was Eric who was piloting it. Slowing so he could come alongside her, she saw that his expression was serious.

  “It’s happened, Grace!” He shouted to be heard over the wind and engine noise. “The meteor has hit the Pacific Ocean at San Diego. A thousand-foot tsunami is traveling at two hundred miles an hour and is headed our way.”

  One by one the twelve swing-los appeared in the valley, hovering alongside one another. “We have to bring as many people as we can up to the ridges and mesas,” Eric told the others.

  The group flew to The Thumb, where the Tribal Council was gathered. The members of Decode and the Drakians had joined the tribal elders there. The pilots loaded them two at a time into their swing-los, which shimmied with the added weight of an extra load.

  “Take Chief Russell,” Eutonah said when Grace stopped for her. “I’ll stay down here to help load.” As the elderly chief climbed in, Grace saw that Kayla, Mfumbe, Allyson, and Jack were helping guide people into the crafts. David Young and his father were also lending a hand.

  Dr. Harriman approached Grace, gripping his handheld invention. “This device is still working,” he told her. “I’ve been able to alert government officials in Denver, Salt Lake City, and Spokane.”

  “Get in,” Grace urged him. “Maybe it will be easier the higher you go.”

  The swing-lo tipped as Dr. Harriman climbed aboard, squeezing next to Chief Russell. It shimmied ominously but then adjusted and began to slowly ascend. The shaking grew increasingly violent as they neared the top of West Mitten Butte. Grace’s gauge read 5,597 feet above sea level. This was higher than she should be going. But the other swing-los were managing it, though also shaking badly.

  For hours, Grace and her companions worked to bring the Tribal Council, Decode workers, and Drakians up. The last yellow of the sky was fading into darkness as the pilots hovered in a group, scanning the canyon floor, searching for anyone they might have missed.

  Above the hum of the crafts, Grace slowly detected an unfamiliar sound. A low roar was approaching from somewhere. The others heard it, stretching up high in their crafts to hear better.

  Grace caught Eric’s eye and he nodded, telling her he was thinking the same thing she was: It was here.
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  Below, water glistened, reflecting the full moon as it seeped into the valley.

  Global-1 trucks began to rumble down Highway 163 as workers realized what was happening and tried to flee.

  Grace’s swing-lo began to vibrate until the shaking traveled into her body, making her bones buzz with the sensation, her teeth chatter uncontrollably.

  The rumbling roar grew into a deafening blast.

  And then it appeared. A thousand foot wall of water rolled in from the west.

  On the ground, Global-1 workers had climbed onto their trucks and machinery. Waving their arms at the swing-los, they shouted to be rescued.

  Without thinking, Grace swooped down and took on two men. The others were immediately behind her, picking up as many of the stranded workers as they could manage.

  A seam of Grace’s craft vibrated loose, pulling apart in an ever widening gap as she went down a second time for another couple of workers. No, no! she thought desperately. Hold on just a little longer, she coaxed the craft as though it were a living being she could urge on.

  As she traveled back up with another group, Grace was pelted with water. In a minute the tidal wave would engulf them. Depositing the workers on the mesa, Grace saw that Eric had zoomed down to get two more.

  Was he crazy? There was no time to bring them back up!

  His ship was wobbling horribly.

  The two passengers were thrown free of the craft. In the next second, Eric’s swing-lo flew apart, its pieces flying in every direction.

  At the same moment, the gigantic wave hit, tossing him into the air, arms and legs sprawled.

  “No!” Grace shouted as she watched from above.

  Setting the controls into a steep dive, she flew down. By the time she neared him, Eric was in the water, struggling to keep his head above but being driven under by the force of the surge. As Grace came above the driving wave, her craft was tossed away as though it were no more than a feather.

  It was no use. She would never reach him.

  The gap in her swing-lo was widening. If it pulled completely apart, the craft would be destroyed just as Eric’s swing-lo had been.

  The parachutes! Every swing-lo had one. But that couldn’t help them now.

  Grace reached under her seat for her chute as a new idea came to her. Unfurling it, she let the parachute and its lines drop. Coming as low as she could manage, she dragged the chute to Eric, who floundered in the water.

  He grabbed and missed repeatedly. It was just too far up.

  Desperate to reach him, Grace threw her weight onto the side of swing-lo, tipping it to such a steep pitch that she had to grip the side to keep from being thrown overboard.

  The nylon chute skimmed the top of the wave and Eric caught it. Pulling herself back into the cockpit, Grace ran her fingers up the holographic bar and the craft lifted.

  Tremendous winds generated by the tsunami swirled around them, keeping Grace’s swing-lo from climbing, blowing it sideways instead.

  The gap widened and Grace clutched at it with both hands, struggling to keep the craft together by the desperate strength in her arms. A gust caught the ship from the side and pitched it into the side of the butte, smashing it against the rock wall.

  The lines of the parachute snagged against a rock ledge as Grace tumbled into the chute.

  Hanging there breathless, just above the level of the rising flood, Grace saw that the lines Eric had clung to were now underwater.

  “Eric!” she shouted down.

  Seeing no sign of him, she searched the racing flood waters. Had he been thrown loose? Swept away?

  In the next minute, Eric emerged, climbing up the battered parachute.

  Grace had never seen a more wonderful sight.

  Hoping that the parachute would not come loose from the rock wall, Grace also pulled herself arm over aching arm, the wet nylon slipping and cutting into her skin, until she was able to pull herself onto the ledge. Eric was quickly beside her.

  Peering upward, they saw the people on the rock, looking down. They were safely above the water.

  Eric enfolded Grace in his arms, and she clung to him, both of them exhausted from the effort of climbing, huddled there on the rocky ledge.

  Grace opened her eyes to see that the red and pink sky was streaked with vivid blue as the sun rose. The garish yellow of the last days had faded back to a lemony glow. She had fallen asleep in Eric’s arms, both of their backs propped against a boulder. He still slumbered beside her. They were both bruised and disheveled, but alive. She remembered everything that had happened, including being transported to the mesa top by Jack who came to get them in a swing-lo.

  Leaning forward, Grace was amazed to see that the violent energy of the tsunami had subsided into rolling waves that crashed just below the top of the mesa. The space was crowded with people. Looking across to East Mitten Butte, she saw that many people were crowded onto its top, as well.

  Kayla came and sat beside Grace. “How are you feeling?”

  “Banged up. Okay,” Grace responded.

  “Dr. Harriman has been on his device. He’s spoken with your family. They’re okay even though there’s huge flooding on the East Coast, too. Global-1’s space station and satellites all fell in the Gulf of Mexico. The Chinese space station went into the Pacific in Asia. Other space stations and satellites also went down. The entire world is pretty much underwater.”

  “The whole world?” Grace questioned, aghast at the immensity of the disaster.

  “Not entirely. A lot of people got to the mountains. People in higher elevations probably did better than those closer to sea level. We don’t have all the information yet. The good news is that Global-1 headquarters worldwide have been destroyed and all its satellites and space stations are down.”

  Blinking to consciousness, Eric awoke and surveyed the changed scenery around him. “I don’t believe it,” he murmured as a wave rolled in just yards away.

  Mfumbe joined them and looked out over the water. “Your premonition has come true, Kayla,” he said. “The desert has turned back into an ocean.”

  Mfumbe folded his arms and leaned against the boulder. “You know, when I was a kid I was taught in Bible class that the world would never again be destroyed by flood like it was back in Noah’s ark times.”

  Kayla rose and took his hand. “It’s not destroyed.”

  “It’s just been given a second chance,” said Eutonah, joining them.

  They stood silently for several more minutes, taking it all in before walking off. While Eric spoke with his mother and uncle, Grace wandered around the mesa, seeing what was happening. People were already engaged in the business of survival: making fires, tending to the injured, setting up shelters. A crowd gathered around Dr. Harriman, trying to get news of what had happened. Jack and Allyson guided a team in repairing the battered swing-lo fleet.

  In a while, Grace would help, but she just needed a little time to think about everything that had happened. No doubt, a lot of people had died and she took a moment to mourn them.

  Eric came up alongside her and took her hand. “My mother has had one of her visions,” he told Grace. “She doesn’t think Global-1 is coming back. They’ve suffered too much damage.”

  Grace let a warm breeze waft over her. “So nobody is receiving signals from the nanobots in my blood anymore?” she questioned.

  “There are no satellites to pick up your signals. If they’re not active, Dr. Harriman told me they’ll dissolve in six months,” Eric said.

  Shutting her eyes, Grace absorbed this information. She allowed the low flame of relief and happiness to catch fire within her. The net that had been thrown over all of them had been torn loose.

  “Do you think this is really a second chance for the world?” Grace asked Eric.

  “It could be,” he allowed. “I hope it is.”

  In her heart, Grace was certain it was a second chance. “And this time maybe, we can do it right,” she said. “We can sure try.”


  SUZANNE WEYN is the acclaimed author of Empty, Distant Waves, Reincarnation, The Bar Code Tattoo, and The Bar Code Rebellion, as well as The Crimson Thread, Water Song, and The Night Dance. She lives in New York.

  Also by

  SUZANNE WEYN

  The Bar Code Tattoo

  The Bar Code Rebellion

  Reincarnation

  Distant Waves: A Novel of the Titanic

  Empty

  Invisible World: A Novel of the Salem Witch Trials

  Copyright © 2012 by Suzanne Weyn.

  All rights reserved. Published by Scholastic Press, an imprint of Scholastic Inc., Publishers since 1920. SCHOLASTIC, SCHOLASTIC PRESS, and associated logos are trademarks and/or registered trademarks of Scholastic Inc.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data available

  First edition, November 2012

  Cover art by Jonathan Barkat

  Cover design by Christopher Stengel

  e-ISBN 978-0-545-47000-1

  All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher. For information regarding permission, write to Scholastic Inc., Attention: Permissions Department, 557 Broadway, New York, NY 10012.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Contents

  Part One

  Chapter One